Small Wonder
by fennecfawkes
Summary: Neville/Harry. Oneshot. A fifth year post-detention interlude in which our heroes compare battle scars and trade compliments and share small wonders together. Didn't make these guys up.


"Skulking" was the best possible word to describe Harry's movements as he walked back up the shifting staircases to Gryffindor Tower. It was late in the evening and he'd just endured his third detention with Professor Umbridge. Blood trickled down the back of his hand, which he wiped on the sleeve of his robe before pulling the fabric down over his exposed skin. If Hermione and Ron were still awake, he didn't want them asking questions. It just wasn't something he could handle.

He muttered the password at the portrait hole, ignoring the stern look targeted at him by the Fat Lady and her accompanying critique ("No one out this late has an innocent excuse for it"). The Tower's common room was blissfully empty but for Neville, looking tired as he paged through a Herbology compendium Harry had never seen.

"'Lo, Harry," said Neville, looking up from his book. "Detention go well?"

Harry snorted. "Close enough to well as it could." He dropped down in the seat opposite Neville. Neville looked considerably rougher, yet somehow more rugged than he had in years past. He'd grown out of his baby fat and developed actual muscle through ongoing D.A. meetings and, Harry guessed, some sort of Muggle-style weight training. He was quite fit now, actually, though Harry wouldn't be saying so out loud anytime soon. His friends were still completely convinced of his heterosexuality, and at least for the time being, it seemed important that he keep it that way.

Without thinking, Harry ran his hand across his forehead, scratching absently at his scar. Instead of jumping up to tend to the angry red welts on Harry's hand, Neville nodded. "She got you, too, then."

"You have them?" Harry asked, genuinely curious about what Dolores Umbridge might feel the need to imprint on Neville. "When'd she get you?"

"After class yesterday. What's yours say?"

Harry leaned closer to Neville and showed him his hand. Neville smiled wryly.

"Lies. Right. Mine seems a bit more personal, then." Neville outstretched his hand. Harry cringed as he read the words "I must not dishonor my parents' name." Not only was the message longer than Harry's, it was substantially more targeted—and infinitely crueler.

"Don't think she even knew them." Neville began to withdraw his arm. Without thinking, Harry caught Neville's wrist in his hand.

"She didn't," he said, looking up at Neville and making steady eye contact, something they'd both been avoiding. "And even if she had, that's not what you're doing. You've done nothing but the obvious. You're really, really brave, you know. If I ... If I had to see my parents the way you see yours, I don't know how I'd go on, really."

"Same as I do," said Neville. "Afraid. But hopeful. Because ... 'cause even if there's evil out there, and of course we know there is, at least I know there's always people out there brave enough to do something about it, even when it costs them everything."

Harry kept hold of Neville's wrist, stroking his thumb along the back. He'd thought before that they had a thing or two in common, absent parents, lonely childhoods and all that. But maybe, he thought now, maybe there were more important things between them, the kind of things he tried to push aside, even in his weaker moments. The silence seemed to settle down around them and about them, like the sort of warm, worn blanket you don't want to let go. Neville did nothing to break it as he said softly, "I'm glad I know someone like you. Someone who gets it."

Harry nodded. "I don't..."

"Neither do I." Neville laughed, sounding a bit shaky.

"Can I?"

Neville nodded and leaned closer, close enough to kiss, which Harry did. It was different with a boy, he thought. Girls were all softness and pink cheeks and shy demeanor. But Neville ... If Harry had ever thought of Neville as shy before, then that was dead and gone. Neville tasted of lemon mint toothpaste and Blistex brand chap stick. His lips were a bit rough, though not as rough as what he did with them, and that was fine with Harry, Harry who found that he highly preferred being the submissive one and letting Neville be the aggressor. And the aggressor he was. Neville pulled Harry across the space between him and onto his lap as they kissed in a way that Harry hadn't thought possible till both were breathing raggedly and grinning like fools.

"I don't think we should tell anyone," said Neville.

"No."

"Is that no, we shouldn't, or yes, we should?"

"No, it's no, you're right, though I want to tell everyone."

Neville shook his head and smiled and brushed his lips against Harry's cheek, this time so gently Harry thought his heart might burst from the care put into the act. "Not now. Not this year. Maybe next. Maybe the one after that. Maybe when we're in our thirties and you're an Auror and I'm digging up plants somewhere in Nepal. But not now. No one's ready for that. Not even us."

"Can we do it again?"

"We can. But we shouldn't."

"But will we?"

"Oh, damn it all, Harry," Neville said as he took to plundering Harry's mouth again. And that was it, Harry thought, that was it, really. All he needed was the small wonder of support and passion from a source that never seemed likely till that last meeting, where they'd both produced Patronuses and watched them swirl about the Room of Requirement together. Sure, maybe he'd date Ginny Weasley and Neville would date some anonymous girl and they'd look for all the world like a perfectly normal pair of friends. But they'd both still know about this, whether they were 16 or 19 or pushing 40. And for now, that was all it took to bandage up his Umbridge-inflicted wounds and move forward yet again.


End file.
